


Interlude: Phantom Traveler

by leonidaslion



Series: Berserker [6]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Gen, Spirit Animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-25
Updated: 2011-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-15 02:05:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonidaslion/pseuds/leonidaslion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean listened to the message at least a hundred times: calling, then hanging up without leaving a message of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude: Phantom Traveler

_This is John Winchester. I can’t be reached. If this is an emergency, call my son Dean. 785-555-0179. He can help._

Dean listened to the message at least a hundred times: calling, then hanging up without leaving a message of his own. He knew that Dad would see his number listed on the caller ID, but he couldn’t seem to help himself.

The first twenty times he called, Dean was able to fool himself into thinking it was because he was homesick. Because he missed his father and even this pale, watered-down imitation of John Winchester was better than nothing. And that was part of it, but it wasn’t the real reason.

No, Dean kept calling because he was looking for the bear in his father’s words. He gripped the phone in one white-knuckled hand and closed his eyes and _listened_ , searching for a rough rasp or a hint of a growl. But it was just Dad’s voice. Just his father, sounding a little weary but otherwise okay.

Dean might have kept calling forever, but one night, when Sam was sleeping soundly (for once) in the bedroom and Dean was perched on the side of the bathtub, Dad actually picked up.

Dean heard that click that was someone actually answering the phone and blurted, “ _Dad?_ ” with his heart in his mouth.

“Do you want me to come get you?” John asked, and Dean finally heard what he had been hunting for in his father’s message: the treat of violence and the taste of something not quite human. If Dad came to get him, that voice implied, Dean wasn’t coming out of it with his mind intact.

Panic filled Dean’s mouth in a bitter flood and he choked out, “No.” His hand clenched in a protective fist around the amulet.

“Then stop calling,” John grunted, and hung up.

Dean tossed his phone into the bottom of his bag and didn’t touch it again for a week.


End file.
